CLEVER SOPHY.
Bob was waiting for me on the platform. He was smoking a cigar, and
did not appear the least flurried. His calm demeanor, being somewhat
antagonistic to the tone of his telegram, annoyed me.
"Well, Bob?" I said.
"Well, old man?" said he. "Knew you would come down by this train."
"Of course you did," I said irritably. "Now for your news."
"No hurry," he said, phlegmatically. "Plenty of time before us."
"Don't trifle, there's a good fellow. Have you seen M. Bordier?"
"I have seen a gentleman of that name. Introduced himself to me.
Showed me a letter from your lady friend. It was addressed to you, but
he made free with it. He had a right to do so perhaps, as it was in an
unsealed envelope. Who is the gentleman? Has he anything to do with
this affair?"
"He is an important person in our inquiry, Bob," I replied, "and is
intimately connected with it."
"Ah," said Bob, dryly. "If I'd been in your place I should have
mentioned him earlier. He came like a bombshell upon me, and vanished,
so to speak, like a flash of lightning. Any better, Sophy?"
Then for the first time I noticed the girl. She was crouched up on a
bench, with her cloak over her head. The words Bob and I had exchanged
were uttered at a little distance from her, and she had not heard my
voice. I stepped close to her and removed the cloak from her head.
"Sophy," I said, "are you ill?"
She jumped up and took the hand I held out to her, but did not answer.
Her face was very white, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.
"Good God!" I cried, with a pang. "Have they been ill-treating her?
What's the matter with you, Sophy?"
"Not afore 'im," she said. Her throat seemed to be parched, her voice
was so choked.
"No, they have not ill-treated her," said Bob; "I can answer for that.
When she came with the desk----"
"You've got the desk!" I cried. Notwithstanding my anxiety for Sophy
the news excited me, and my attention was diverted from her for a
moment.
"Yes," said Bob, with a laugh in which I detected a shade of
bitterness, "we've got the desk. For all the good it's worth. When she
hopped into my room with it she was as bright as a cricket. Later on
sent her to bed. Supposed her to be asleep, when she tumbled into the
room again with a face like--well, look at it. Thought she'd have a
fit. She'd had a nightmare."
"I hadn't," gasped Sophy.
"I'll take your word for it," said Bob. "Anyway, she wouldn't open her
lips to me. Very mysterious. She will to you, most likely."
"Yes, I will," said Sophy, still clinging to me; she was trembling all
over.
"Thought as much," said Bob, who seemed to feel this lack of
confidence in him very acutely. "There are things to tell. My
proposition--if I may be allowed to make one--is that we begin at the
beginning, else we shall get muddled."
"It's the properest way," said Sophy.
"Thank you. Even this slight mark of approval appreciated by yours
truly. Do I gather that we are friends, Sophy, no longer Maria?"
"In course we are; but I ain't 'ad no nightmare, I've 'ad a scare."
She offered him her hand, and it really put life into him. He spoke
more briskly.
"Let us get back to the hotel," he said. "Everything down there in
black and white--except Sophy's scare--the reason for which I shall be
glad to hear, if permitted."
"If he likes," said Sophy, "he can tell yer everythink when he 'ears
it 'isself. It's best it should be led up to." She addressed these
last words to me.
"For which purpose," said Bob; "march."
I listened to all this in amazement, but I fell in with their humor to
have Sophy's scare properly led up to, and we walked to the inn in
comparative silence.
"When did you have your last meal, Sophy?" I asked.
"Two o'clock. Biled beef and cabbage."
"You oaf," I said good-humoredly to Bob, "that's the reason of her
being so white. She has been ten hours without food."
Bob clapped his hand to his forehead. "I am an ass," he said.
"You ain't," said Sophy, promptly, "and it ain't what made me white.
But I shouldn't turn my back on a bit of grub."
"And a bit of grub you shall have," said Bob, "the moment we are in
our room. I've got the right side of the landlady. Cold meat and
pickles always on tap for Bob Tucker."
In the room Bob was as good as his word. A cold supper was spread
before Sophy, and a glass of weak brandy and water mixed for her. She
ate with avidity, and while she was thus employed Bob turned his
attention to me.
"My diary comes in handy here," he said, and he pushed the book toward
me. "You will find everything entered, saves a world of talk."
I skimmed through the pages till I reached yesterday's date, under
which I found my departure for London duly recorded, the brief entry
being:
"Agnold restless. Gone to London. For no particular reason--but gone."
Further on the record of the present day:
"Six P.M. Just returned from Tylney House. A surprising number of
stones thrown by Sophy, otherwise Maria. She usually throws three or
four, never more than five, including pellet in white paper, denoting
happiness and safety. But this afternoon, quite a shower, including
four pellets in white paper. Counted altogether eighteen. Does it mean
anything? Wait till to-morrow. Logical interpretation, that things
going on more satisfactorily than ever. Something discovered, perhaps.
A thousand pities Sophy, otherwise Maria, cannot read or write. If the
latter, could obtain positive information. When this particularly
clever girl comes out she must begin to learn immediately. Talents
must have a fair chance. Cruel they should be wasted. See to it.
Singular no letter from Agnold. But did not promise to write."
Following this was a revelation:
"Sent telegram to Agnold, advising him to come down at once. This is
putting cart before horse--in this instance allowable. Begin now at
the beginning of exciting chapter.
"At half-past seven was sitting alone, smoking and ruminating.
Door suddenly burst open, and Sophy, no longer Maria, rushes in. I
cry--'What, Sophy!' 'Yes,' she says, out of breath, 'it's me. I've got
it; I've got it. Where's the other?' (meaning Agnold). I briefly
explain that he has gone to London, but will return the moment
telegraphed for. 'Do you mean to tell me,' 'I said,' as excited as
herself, 'that you've brought the desk?' 'It's 'ere,' she says, and she
plumps it on the table, also a large door-key. She had carried the
desk wrapped in her cloak. There is no doubt about the article; it
exactly answers description given by Agnold. Remarkable girl, Sophy.
"This is her tale--and glad she was to set her tongue going after the
lock it has had on it for so many days. At Tylney House one day is so
like another that a lengthy experience of it must be perfectly
appalling. Sophy says it is like a long funeral. As a friendly patient
Sophy had the run of the house, and she knows every room in it except
one--Dr. Peterssen's private apartment, which he occupies when he is
in evidence. He is seldom in evidence. Absent six days out of seven.
As there was no sign of desk in any other part of the house, Sophy
decides that it is in Peterssen's room, if in the house at all. She
was right.
"Peterssen only been at home two days during Sophy's residence as
friendly patient. The first time last week. The second time, this. In
point of fact, this very day. Last week Peterssen stopped about two
hours in private room. Sophy passed door, through passage, while he
was within. Couldn't get a peep. Consequently knew nothing of desk.
Peterssen came out of room, locked door, went away. Most girls would
have been discouraged at the prospect of such small chance of success.
Not Sophy. She had made up her mind that the desk was there. There's
nothing like moral conviction. To-day at one o'clock Peterssen puts in
an appearance. After dinner, Sophy, on her way into the grounds,
passes private room. Door ajar. She gets a peep. On the table sees
desk, cedar-wood, inlaid with silver. Heart beats. Time not wasted.
Discovery made, but not yet utilized. Watches like a cat. Hears keeper
say Peterssen going to stop all night. Heart beats faster. Now or
never. But how is this to be accomplished. This explains meaning of
such a number of stones thrown over wall. Symbolical, but at the time
undecipherable to present writer. Quite clear now.
"At ten minutes past five by Sophy's silver watch (her own property
now), letter arrives for Peterssen. Delivered to him by keeper.
Evidently unexpected. Evidently of an exciting nature. He reads it,
and hurries out of house. What has he done with the key of the private
room? Sophy hears a bunch rattle in his pocket as he rushes past her.
Almost despairs, but not quite.
"Sophy creeps into passage again. The door is closed. She tries to
peep through keyhole, but it is blocked. By what? A key. The key being
inside, Peterssen in haste must have forgotten to lock the door. It
proves to be so. Sophy has only to put her hand on handle, to turn it
softly round, and presto! she is in the room. But the desk is not on
table. Where, then? Under the bed. Before you can say Jack Robinson
Sophy seizes it, creeps out of room. But first a stroke of genius. She
removes key of door from inside to outside, turns it in lock, removes
it from keyhole and retains it. Sublime! When Peterssen returns he
will find door locked. Will naturally think he has locked it himself.
Will feel in his pocket for key, without finding it. Will spend time
in searching for it. All in Sophy's favor. Bravo, little one!
"Sophy reconnoitres. Keeper in grounds. Presently enters house, goes
up to his bedroom--for private nap, of course. Coast clear. Like a
shot Sophy is in the grounds. Like a shot she is over the wall, where
there is no broken glass. How she did it she does not remember.. She
does not know. Neither do I. But it is done. There she is, over the
wall, outside Tylney House, instead of inside, with the key of the
door in her hand, and the precious desk under her arm. It takes my
breath away.
"Getting here to me takes hers away, She makes mistakes in the roads,
and comes seven miles instead of four. But she runs the distance, and
here she is.
"'Sophy,' I say, 'you are a treasure.'
"'I done it all right, didn't I?' she says.
"'You did, my girl, and you deserve a medal.'
"I formally make over the silver watch to her, and promise her a
silver chain to match. She is in ecstasies, but not quite happy
because Agnold is not here. I tell her he will be here to-morrow, and
then I examine the desk. An intense desire seizes me to open it. Right
or wrong, I determine to do so. I'll chance what Agnold may say when
he comes back. He should have remained. What made him go to London? He
had no immediate business there. His immediate business was here.
"Not one of my keys will open the desk. But I can pick a lock, and I
have some delicate tools with me. For an ambitious man, in the line to
which I have devoted myself, they are necessary and invaluable.
"I set to work, and very soon, without injuring the lock in the least,
the desk is open. There are papers in it, but no copy of a marriage
certificate. Agnold said it would be most likely in a secret drawer,
but no secret drawer could I discover.
"I was so much engrossed in the examination I was making that I did
not hear the door opened. But open it was, and the shadow of a man
fell upon me. Sophy's eyes were closed. She was tired. I looked up. A
stranger stood before me."